


Baby I'm Ready To Go

by LadyRavenEye



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:37:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRavenEye/pseuds/LadyRavenEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the prompt: “AU where your OTP meets in line for a roller coaster (bonus: one of them is super scared)”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby I'm Ready To Go

Sam Wilson was a good man. He made a living helping veterans, he volunteered at a bird sanctuary once a week, and he kept his guest bedroom neat in case he heard of a queer kid who needed a place to stay. He donated to charity and went to church (most weeks, anyway).

But damn, it felt good to breeze by hours-long lines of people on his way to the front of the line at Cedar Point’s best roller coasters.

It was a purely selfish indulgence: once a summer, he made his way to Sandusky, Ohio and spent way too much on a fast lane pass. He imagined this must be what the one percent felt like all the time. On this particular gorgeous July day, someone had muttered “ _fast lane fuckers_ ” at him as he walked brusquely by the non-fast pass holders on his way to the Top Thrill Dragster. He would have felt embarrassed, but by the time the jibe had registered, he was long gone.

The fast pass lane connected and mingled with the regular line at about a twenty minute wait behind the loading platform. Sam squinted upward at the coaster he was about to ride, admiring the sheer height of the thing. He could hear the music blasting from the platform, the same song that had been playing since Sam had started going to Cedar Point four years ago: “ _from the rooftop shout it out, baby I’m ready to go!_ ” Sam wondered if the people that worked the coaster ever went mad from listening to the same eleven words, over and over again, all day long.

Turning from the coaster, he scanned the crowd around him for potential riding partners. It was another part of his brilliant plan to ride as many rides as he could in a single day: come alone. It was easy to skip ahead a few turns to share with a likely single rider or extra from an uneven group. It had worked so well that Sam had all but forgotten the original plan had _not_ been to come alone, and only his promise to Riley that they would still go to Cedar Point in case anything happened to the other had made him come the first year at all.

 _There_ was a likely candidate. A tall, white man, taller even than Sam, wearing a baseball cap and thick rimmed glasses. And good Lord, a tank top. Sam suppressed a groan as his eyes roved over the man’s sculpted arms and shoulders and pecs. He fervently hoped his original guess that the man was riding alone was correct, and the least important reason for that hope was to find someone to ride Dragster with.

Wriggling through the line, Sam could see the man was looking up toward the top of the coaster with a queasy expression on his face. He was also sweating profusely, and Sam considered it was only partially because of the heat of the day.

“It’s not so bad, y’know. Over in a flash,” Sam said. Apparently the beautiful man had not heard him, eyes still straining upward. The line shifted, and without looking, the man moved forward as well, bumping into Sam as he went.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” he said, finally taking his eyes off the roller coaster and looking at Sam. He was turning a delicate pink color that crept upward from his neck, and Sam wondered how far down the blush had started.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. _Seriously though, don’t worry about it._ “Like I said, Dragster will treat you good. It’s over so fast there’s no time to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” said the man.

“Uh huh,” Sam decided not to press, instead offering a hand. “I’m Sam, and I’m riding solo. Care to sit with me?”

“I’m Steve. Nice to meet you. And sure."

Steve had gorgeous blue eyes.

Steve’s hands were big and calloused.

Steve was also wearing a fast lane pass wrist band.

“Why’d you wait in the normie line?”

“’Normie?’”

“You know, non fast lane pass holders.” Sam ignored the glares of the people around them. Steve frowned.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“No,” said Sam, and he laughed. “It’s the one time a year I let myself be mean all day.”

Steve nodded, and damned but he seemed to understand. Then the blush returned.

“Well, I’m. I guess, I lied. I am scared.”

“So you waited for two extra hours staring up at it, hoping you would get unscared?”

“I guess. When you put it like that, it seems kind of foolish.”

“Hey man, plenty of people are afraid of heights. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, even a big strong dude like you,” said Sam. The lined shuffled forward. Steve was obviously distracted, and Sam put a light hand on his back to steer him in the right direction.

“I’m not scared of heights!” said Steve, grinning big and sloppy like he was sharing an inside joke. Then his face fell. “No, I’m just scared of—roller coasters. Metal ones, anyway. I’ve never been on one.”

“Damn, you picked a hell of a roller coaster for your first one!”

“It was a bet,” Steve said miserably. “A friend of mine bet me I wouldn’t do it. And now she won’t even ride with me.” Steve gestured toward the bleachers where folks could watch the coaster launch. “The redhead, on her phone.”

The redhead seemed to know she was being watched. Her head came up to look at Steve and Sam, then dropped back down to her phone, where she typed something. Steve’s phone buzzed in his pocket (was that _The Itsy Bitsy Spider_?) He picked it up to read it, and then shoved it quickly back in his shorts, but not before Sam had caught the words.

**He’s cute, you should go for it :) :)**

Steve had turned from pastel to a more salmon-like shade, and was carefully avoiding Sam’s eyes as the line shuffled forward again.  
And although Sam’s mind was whooping, he thought he did a pretty good job of sounding casual when he said:

“Your first metal coaster, huh? Just how old are you?”

It worked, because Steve turned a relatively normal pasty shade again— _damn, white boys should not have skin this pretty_ —and grinned lopsided at Sam.

“I’m 96 years old.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is.”

“Huh. Well. If it really _is_ your first time—” Steve’s return to Bo Peep pink told Sam his delicate attempt at innuendo had indeed worked, and that this guy was most likely into him—“then we gotta ride front. Sorry dude, I don’t make the rules.” From pink to stark white to faintly green—was this guy a chameleon? Some kind of color-changing super hero?

“And you can sit on my left, because it’s the better place to sit for Top Thrill Dragster.”

The line shuffled forward again, so that the two men were standing right before the loading platform. The Cedar Point employee with the measuring stick looked Steve up and down. Sam felt a hot stab of jealousy in his gut, which was ridiculous considering he did not know Steve’s last name, let alone if he went for pimply teenagers who were most likely lured from Eastern Europe to serve as indentured servants in Sandusky, Ohio for the summer.

“You need to measure him or something?” It somehow came out of Sam’s mouth. He did not mean it to, but it did. Now it was his turn to blush. Steve, the rat bastard, looked slyly at Sam through those baby blues, and touched his shoulder lightly.

“I’ll ride front, but if I cry, you can’t tell the redhead.”

“Deal,” said Sam. Steve was gorgeous _and_ thoughtful? Sam thought about what color schemes might look best with their colorings, and if they should go tuxedos or suits, lilies or orchids, and if his mom would ever, ever forgive him for falling in love with a white boy in line for a roller coaster.

They pushed through the turnstile and stopped at the end of the line for the front seat. Steve was sweating again and his face was pinched. Still caught in his daydreams, Sam absently reached out to Steve’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

Then he realized what he did, and dropped it.

“I’m sorry, oh god, I’m so sorry, oh _god_ —“

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Steve wasn’t laughing outright, but his voice shook and his eyes twinkled. Regardless of why, at least the gesture had served to calm him down. Slowly, deliberately, he reached down and twined his fingers with Sam’s.

“It’s okay. I appreciate it. I am scared... shitless.”

They shuffled forward a few times, holding hands. For once in his life, Sam could not think of a single thing to say.

“Do you think that drives any of them to drink?” said Steve, when they were only three rides away from their turn.

“Hmm?” said Sam. He was feeling dizzy, for some reason.

“The song? The same song over and over again? ‘ _Baby I’m ready to go._ ’”

“Oh,” said Sam. He tried to focus on the real world again, rather than the strange, beautiful, dorky, color-changing man’s hand in his.

“It would me,” said Steve. “Not that it matters.”

“Mmm,” said Sam.

All of a sudden, or at least it felt that way to Sam, they were getting on. Steve let go of Sam’s hand which made Sam sad, even though his whole palm was now slick with Steve’s sweat. It was surprisingly difficult not to lick it.

They pushed down their lap bars, buckled their seat belts, and lifted their arms for the safety checks. As this went on, the employee in the booth was reeling off his pre-launch speech in a garbled, unintelligible babble. Steve looked panicked.

“Wait, is that important? I didn’t understand him!”

“No, no, Steve,” said Sam, patting his knuckles, which were clenched around the lap bar. “It’s not important. You’re fine, just take some deep breaths.”

Steve let out a whimper— _it was_ not _a sexual sound, he’s scared, be reasonable!_ —when the car started to move forward. Steve’s friend in the bleachers saw them and stood up, waving both her arms enthusiastically. Sam chuckled and looked at Steve, before gasping.

“Oh man, your hat, your glasses! You gotta take them off and hold them, or you’ll lose them for sure!”

Steve nodded and grabbed both them both off his head, clenching the glasses so hard they _broke_. Sam gaped at Steve’s fist.

“It’s okay,” said Steve, his voice high pitched and trembling. “They’re not prescrip—oh god!”

“ _Hands down!_ ” blasted a speaker. “ _Hands down!_ ”

Steve moaned. Sam grinned, looking at him. Without his hat and glasses… oh my god, his name was Steve, he was 96 years old--it all clicked into place.  Sam could not believe he had fallen in love with Captain fucking America in line for a roller coaster, what was his mom going to say?? And what the _fuck_ had he been thinking?

“ _Keep arms down, head back, and hold on!_ ” the lights changed from red to yellow to green, and before Sam could say anything, they were screaming forward. Up and over the loop. Corkscrewing downward. Rushing forward. Braking hard.

It was almost as good as flying.

But this time, Sam wasn’t able to let his mind go blank, wasn’t able to enjoy grasping at a sensation he never thought he’d feel again. This time, he was in turmoil. Steve _fucking_ Rogers, Captain _fucking_ America. He turned toward the man, ready to berate him for keeping this vital piece of information from him, when he realized Steve was already looking.

There were tears in his eyes, but Sam was fairly certain it was just from the force of the wind, because Steve’s face was lit up like the fourth of July. _Already making puns, kill me—_

And then Steve _kissed_ him.

Sam’s mind went blank. It was an awkward kiss, both of them twisted in the tiny Dragster seats, impeded by the lap bars.

Someone whooped behind them and Steve pulled away, his face transcending pink and settling into a lurid fuchsia.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “But that was really great.”

“You’re not the first person to say that about my lips,” Sam rasped.

“I meant the ride,” laughed Steve. “But your lips are close.”

**Author's Note:**

> I bought a fast lane pass for the first time this summer and I am never looking back. The "fast lane fuckers" thing really happened to me, and I really do wonder if hearing the same song over and over again would drive a person up a wall.


End file.
